Page 30 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

She drops her gaze. Her fingers twist in the hem of her jacket.

“Laney,” I say, gentler, quieter. “Look at me.”

She doesn’t move. I reach out, brushing her hair back, cupping her face. “Look at me.”

She does.

God, her eyes. The weight in them. The fear she’s been carrying alone.

“He’s been calling a few times a day,” she whispers. “And… texting. I blocked a couple of numbers, but he just keeps finding new ones.”

My arms are around her before she can even take another breath, pulling her in tight, one hand cradling the back of her head as I hold her to my chest.

I feel her sigh into me, her body sagging like the fight has been knocked out of her.

“Let me see them,” I say.

She’s still. Silent. Then, slowly, she pulls her phone from her pocket and hands it over.

I unlock it, scrolling through the recent texts—unknown numbers, unhinged words. The first few are desperate, pleading. Apologies. Classic manipulation.

Then the tone shifts.

So this is what you are now? Sleeping with a washed-up rockstar?

You’re disgusting.

You think he gives a shit about you?

You’re nothing.

The last one makes my vision go red.

My jaw locks. My hands shake. I want to throw the phone through the wall, get in my car, find the bastard, and make sure he never opens his mouth again.

Laney’s watching me now, eyes wide, scared—but not of me. She’s scared I’ll take it too far.

I lower the phone, set it gently on the table, and wrap her in my arms again, burying my face into her hair.

“I’ll handle it,” I say into her skin. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

She shakes her head against my chest. “I don’t want to talk about Randy anymore.”

I lean back, searching her face, but she’s already reaching for me—fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me close.

“Please,” she whispers. “Take me upstairs.” Her voice cracks. “Make me forget.”

The words undo me.

I scoop her up in one smooth motion, her arms winding around my neck as I carry her upstairs. Every step is silent, heavy with something we’re both afraid to name.

She presses her face into my shoulder, and I press kisses to her hair, to her temple, to her cheek.

I don’t speak.

I just hold her.

Because in this moment, she needs my body more than my words.

And I need her closer than I’ve ever needed anyone in my life.

I carry her upstairs without a word.

The silence between us isn’t cold anymore—it’s charged, humming with something raw and open. Her fingers tighten at the back of my neck like she’s afraid if she lets go, I’ll disappear.

I won’t.

Not tonight.

Inside the bedroom, I don’t bother with the light. Moonlight slips through the open curtain, painting her skin in soft silver as I lay her gently on the bed. She watches me in that quiet way of hers, eyes wide and heavy with things she isn’t saying.

I kneel over her, kiss her forehead, then her cheeks, then her lips—slow and soft and full of reverence. My hands slide over her hips, lifting her jacket off, then the top beneath it, peeling away each layer like it’s sacred.

She lets me.

Her hands tremble as they reach for my shirt, and I help her—pulling it over my head and tossing it to the floor. She runs her palms over my chest like she’s memorizing me, and I lean into her touch because I’m trying to do the same.

Neither of us speaks.

Because how do you say I’ll miss you so much it already hurts?

I kiss her again, deeper this time, then ease her back onto the pillows, undressing her slowly, carefully, until she’s bare beneath me. Her breath hitches, and her eyes lock onto mine, holding me there like she’s asking, Are we okay? Are we still here?

I answer with a kiss.

And then another.

And another.

I worship her with my mouth, my hands, my body—like this is the last night I’ll ever get to. My pace is slow, deliberate, every movement laced with meaning. I don’t just want to touch her. I want to love her—so thoroughly she forgets anything that came before me.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders, whispering my name like it’s the only word she remembers. And when I slide inside her, we both break a little—eyes locked, breaths tangled, our bodies pressing together like they’re trying to fuse.

We move slowly.

Together.

No frenzy. No rush.

Just the sound of our breathing, the slide of skin on skin, the quiet whimpers that escape her lips every time I whisper ‘I’ve got you’.

She clings to me like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.

And maybe I will.

But not yet.

We come together wrapped in each other, her hands buried in my hair, her lips on my neck. Her body trembles beneath me as she cries out my name, and I follow with a groan that sounds like it’s tearing out of my chest.

And then we’re still.

Breathless. Twined together. Wrecked in the best, worst way.

She buries her face in my chest, and I wrap my arms around her like I’ll never let go. Eventually, her breathing evens out, her fingers loosen, and she drifts to sleep curled against me, warm and soft and still mine—for now.

I lie awake.

Staring at the ceiling, arms wrapped around the most important person in my world, and all I can think is—I don’t want to go.

I don’t want to leave her here.

But I have to.

Because she’s safer here.

Especially after what happened at the last gig. That attack. The fear. The terrified look in her eyes. I haven’t gotten it out of my head since.

I can’t risk putting her in the line of fire again. Not with everything that comes with the tour. The press. The label. Her.

Laney deserves peace.

I reach for my phone on the nightstand, careful not to wake her, and type out a message to Lucas.

Eddie: Keep an eye on her while I’m gone?

His response comes fast.

Lucas: You know I will. Always.

Then I send a second message.

Eddie: I think Randy’s still lurking. I’m leaving her here. I need to know she’s good.

A minute later:

Nico: It’s handled.

I exhale, the knot in my chest loosening—but only slightly.

Because even with them watching her… she’s still not with me.

I set the phone down and look at her again, asleep against my chest, lips slightly parted, hair fanned across my shoulder.

She looks peaceful.

She has no idea how much I love her.

And I don’t know if I’ll be able to say it again before I leave.

My eyes burn. My chest aches.

Eventually, exhaustion takes me under, but not gently. I fall into a restless, broken kind of sleep—wrapped around the woman I love, haunted by the fear that everything will be different when I wake up.